Dream a Little Scream

by Mary Kennedy

  “Where does that leave us? Back at square one, the money trail,” Noah said. He tipped his glass of sangria to me.

  Sara nodded. “I’ve got a little bombshell for you. I’ve done some work on the financials, and one person who would really benefit from Sonia’s death is Olivia Hudson. As far as I can tell, she’s bright and ruthless and sick of being the power behind the throne. She could run the company starting tomorrow if she had to. She’s clever enough and ambitious enough to make it work. All she’d have to do is get the approval of the board of directors, and I think they’re in her corner.”

  6

  “Olivia the devoted assistant?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t seen this one coming.

  “Olivia the unappreciated employee,” Sara retorted. “She may not be as devoted as you think. I found out some juicy gossip about her. She started to file a lawsuit against Sonia years ago, and someone high up in the company talked her out of it. They ended up settling out of court for an undisclosed amount.”

  “A lawsuit?” This was intriguing. “On what grounds?”

  “It was a contractual disagreememt and the records are sealed,” Sara said, glancing at Noah. “Something about Sonia’s company not living up to the terms of their contract with Olivia. They hushed it up as fast as they could because Olivia was threatening to go to the Labor Relations Board.”

  “Unless you have a friend who can get us access . . .” She let her voice trail off with a winsome smile. Sara has an uncanny ability to get people to dig up long-buried records for her.

  “I may know someone who can help us. Can you give me a little more to go on?” Noah was passing a bread basket around the table and I managed to resist them once more. I knew I’d be stuffing myself with lasagna for the main course, plus I wanted to leave room for Marcelo’s famous tiramisu.

  Sara was dipping a piece of Italian bread in a saucer of seasoned olive oil. “Not really. But the fact that it was settled so quickly is probably significant.” “So does that mean she really had a case?” Ali asked. She paused while a waiter refilled our glasses of white sangria. “And if the details had come out, it could have embarrassed the company?”

  Noah nodded. “It doesn’t necessarily mean she had a case, it just means she could cause a lot of trouble for the company. If she made a formal complaint to the Labor Relations Board, they’d be obligated to investigate it. This would definitely affect the brand image Sonia tried to promote.”

  “That’s true,” I interjected. “The last thing she’d want would be a hint of scandal or unfair labor practices. Sonia liked to project the idea that her company was just one big happy family.”

  “Sounds like one big dysfunctional family,” Sara offered. “So, you’ll try to follow up on the potential lawsuit angle, Noah?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely. I still have some friends at the DOJ.” Our eyes locked for a moment and I felt a familiar little tug at my heart.

  “Any news from the Savannah PD?” Sara asked, breaking the mood. We both knew that even though Noah was a private investigator he had strong ties to the police and he’d helped us out before in our investigations.

  “They found the missing EpiPen,” he said casually.

  Sara stopped with her fork to her mouth. The server had placed chilled salads in front of us. “You’re kidding! Olivia looked all over for that thing. I saw her myself.”

  I remembered the frantic scrambling as we all searched for the EpiPen. Olivia had tossed the contents of Sonia’s purse on the floor in a panic. Then she’d turned her own tote upside down. There wasn’t a trace of the pen and she seemed genuinely panicked. Had it all been an act?

  “It was in the trash. They went through it with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “You mean in the trash bins outside the shop?” I pictured someone pocketing the EpiPen from Sonia’s purse, or Olivia’s purse, and then tossing it in a Dumpster.

  “No, it was right in the shop. In the wastebasket near the kitchen area.”

  “I don’t know how we missed it.” I was flummoxed. We keep a wicker trash basket at the end of the counter, and everyone had access to it. I tried to think if I had seen anyone lurking around the trash basket during the book signing. I think I would have noticed it. Everyone in the audience stayed in their seats until it was time to approach Sonia for the signing. So that meant that someone on her own team had thrown the EpiPen away. Or did it?

  “The salads here are delicious,” Ali said, breaking my train of thought. “They chill the plates—that’s a nice touch, isn’t it?

  Sara snapped her fingers in a Eureka moment. “Wait a minute, the plates! I nearly forgot about them. What about the plates?” she said, her green eyes blazing.

  “Plates?” I said blankly.

  “Plates, trays, serving platters, whatever you call them,” Sara said, her voice rising in excitement. “The serving plates with all the pastries on them. Does anyone know what happened to them?”

  “If you mean the serving plates for the desserts at the book signing,” I said, suddenly understanding, “they’re gone. When the cops arrived, they scooped everything up as evidence and I haven’t heard anything about them.”

  “Anything else on the money angle?” I asked hopefully. There seemed remarkably little to go on, unless Noah or Sara had a new bombshell. “Did anybody find out about the will?”

  Noah flipped open a tiny notebook and glanced inside. “No, not yet. It’s still in probate.”

  We were silent for moment, mulling over what we knew so far. I felt we had uncovered only a small part of the puzzle and we needed some major pieces to fill in the gaps. Did Sonia have an enemy in her ranks? Was there an outsider holding a grudge? Could someone at the book signing have plotted to kill her? Worst of all, could it be Etta Mae from the Dream Club?

  “I’ve heard a bit of gossip,” Sara said. “Sexual hijinks at the highest level of Sonia Scott, Inc.” She paused dramatically before breaking a breadstick in half. “It seems Sonia was a little too close to her marketing director, Jeremy Watts.”

  My mind flew to Jeremy Watts and the cozy scene I’d witnessed at the taping. Except it was Olivia who’d been having a tête-à-tête with Jeremy, not Sonia. “You’re better than TMZ,” I told her. “How did you dig up this little tidbit?”

  “It’s an open secret that Sonia and the very-married Jeremy have been an item for years.”

  Ali looked surprised. “Lucinda thought he and his wife, Leslie, were such a happy couple. But Lucinda is such a dear, she always thinks the best of everyone.”

  Sara shook her head. She dug into her tote bag and pulled out a grainy newspaper photo. “Here’s Jeremy with Sonia at a luncheon in Tampa that was sponsored by a civic group. I printed this out last night.” The photo showed a smiling Sonia with her arm around Jeremy Watts. The couple definitely looked cozy, and Sonia had her face turned up to him in a rapturous smile. Was Jeremy playing the field and involved with two women, one his boss and the other his colleague? Or did I misinterpret their conversation outside the studio?

  “And you’re sure Sonia’s seriously involved with him?” I asked. “It’s not just a fling?”

  “It’s serious,” Sara said solemnly. “Sonia has been after him to divorce his wife and marry her. He seems to be on the fence about it; he has little kids. The gossip magazines are all over it.”

  “I don’t think her fans would be too keen on that,” I said thoughtfully. “She likes to project such a wholesome image. Being labeled a home-wrecker would definitely show a darker side of her personality.”

  “But would it really hurt her cookbook sales? Or her TV ratings? That’s all that matters in the long run: the bottom line,” Noah chimed in. “I think her fans would have been loyal to her, no matter what. What else do we know about Jeremy’s wife?”

  “She was one of Lucinda’s students at the Academy,” I offered. “She and Lucinda chat
ted at the studio, and Lucinda introduced her to us. Lucinda was so glad to reconnect with her, she invited her back to her house after the taping.” I paused. “Poor Leslie. I wonder if she knows about her husband’s affair.”

  “She must,” Sara offered. “She’d have to be an idiot not to. I think we should look at her as a suspect.”

  “We need to look at everyone. The sooner the killer is brought to justice, the better,” Ali said.

  “Amen to that,” I agreed. “When the story hits the news, Oldies But Goodies could be in for some bad publicity. The reporters are bound to mention the place that Sonia died—”

  “Not only died, was poisoned,” Sara cut in. “That’s what they’ll say.”

  Ali’s cheeks flamed. “She may have been poisoned or it may have been an allergic reaction. But everyone in Savannah knows it wasn’t our food that killed her.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” Noah said mildly. “You don’t know what sort of twists and turns the story will take when it hits the national news. We have to wait and see.”

  We were silent while the server cleared our plates and brought the entrees. I didn’t want to alarm Ali, but I knew Noah was right. The sooner this case was solved, the better for us all.

  7

  The message light was blinking when we returned from dinner and Ali settled down at the kitchen table. “Let’s hope those flyers helped,” she said cheerfully. “We could use some new business.” Last week, we’d handed out flyers and coupons for our new Handheld Dessert Menu around town, and we hoped we’d made a splash. The menu items included everything from caramel cake pops to tiny jars of mini-desserts like key lime pie and bourbon-pecan rice pudding.

  The mini-desserts were Ali’s idea, and I was sure they’d be a hit. Each mini-dessert was served in a baby food jar decorated with a swatch of gingham. Customers could grab a plastic spoon and be on their way, exploring the city. We have tables and chairs at Oldies But Goodies, both indoors and on the patio, but the handheld desserts seemed to strike a chord with tourists. They were eager to buy a quick snack and be off, exploring the beauty of Savannah.

  I watched Ali’s face crumble as she sat with the phone clasped to her ear, shaking her head and taking notes. When she finally hung up, I pulled out one of the ladder-back kitchen chairs and sat down across from her. “That bad?” I asked sympathetically.

  Ali pushed her notepad toward me. “It’s worse than bad; it’s a nightmare. All cancellations,” she said in a wobbly voice. “I can’t believe it. You’d think we’d contracted the plague. People don’t want anything to do with us or our food.”

  I quickly scanned the names on the list. Some were new customers who’d ordered catering jobs for special events. We’d invested a few hundred dollars handing out samples and developing a free “tasting menu,” hoping it would pay off with local businesses and civic groups.

  It looked like our efforts had been a dismal failure. “Even the Little Miss Chef contest?” I frowned. “I paid a sales call on the pageant organizer last week and gave her fifty free mini-desserts for the girls.” And a thick wad of coupons for free half pounds of our retro candy. And a generous donation to her nonprofit, I thought grimly.

  The organizer—a prominent civic leader here in town—had been so appreciative and friendly. How could she pull the plug on us? It felt like a betrayal of the worst sort. She’d said she loved the food and candies at the shop and had promised to recommend us to all her friends. What had happened? There was only one explanation, and Ali and I both knew what it was.

  “Sonia,” Ali said bitterly, as if she had read my mind. “Sonia happened.”

  I started to contradict her and then stopped. The truth was staring us both in the face and there was no way to sugarcoat it. I had thought inviting Sonia Scott to sign books at the shop was going to be a fantastic boost to our struggling business, and instead it may have killed us. At the very least, we’d taken a major hit, and I had no idea how to turn things around.

  “If only we hadn’t served food,” Ali said, her face creased with despair. “It’s the food that did it—at least that’s what people will think. If only we had stuck to the book signing, none of this would have happened.”

  “It was inevitable,” I reminded her. “The food was a big part of the promotional effort. It did draw a crowd,” I said, remembering the fans eagerly munching on goodies from Sonia’s cookbook. “Ali, we both thought it was the right thing to do, and there’s no sense in second-guessing ourselves now. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

  “I know you’re right,” she said, scooping Scout onto her lap. She began idly stroking Scout’s thick fur and her features relaxed a little. Barney and Scout have the ability to sense when either one of us is upset, and they always seek us out for a little cuddling. A few soft purrs and head nuzzles can do wonders. The cats are highly sensitive to our moods, always ready to offer their own brand of feline comfort. “I guess we need to develop a game plan.” She blew out a little puff of air and her voice was stronger.

  “That’s the spirit.” I was glad to hear the new note of resoluteness in her voice. The old Ali would have crumbled in the face of adversity or simply closed the business, but my sister had grown in so many ways in the past few months. I felt a rush of pride. Ali was showing a strength of character that I’d never seen before; her fighting spirit was an inspiration to me.

  I’m the one with the MBA and the business background, but I was stymied at what we should do next. If people really believed that our food had something to do with Sonia’s death, it was going to be hard to turn this around. I made a mental note to ask Sara if she thought running a piece in the local paper would help. Or would that just make it worse? This was a tough call.

  And I needed to find out from Noah when the autopsy results would be back. What really had killed Sonia? I drew a mental picture of the buffet table, loaded with lemon bars, tiny cherry cheesecake tarts, and shortbread cookies. Was it possible that peanuts had been lurking somewhere in there? These recipes were all straight out of Sonia’s cookbook. And Ali and I had made two of the desserts ourselves.

  “Ali,” I said abruptly, “do you remember when Sonia shouted for more cookies?”

  “I sure do,” she said, nodding her head. “She practically bellowed across the room. She said she had to do a taste test, so she needed a refill. She was joking, of course, but yes, I remember her asking for a refill on the pastries.”

  “Who handed her the plastic plate with the cookies, do you remember? And what did they put on it?”

  She squinted her eyes and scrunched her face in thought. “I just can’t remember,” she said finally, putting Scout back on the floor. “It’s funny, I can see the blue plastic plate with the red rooster. I can see it piled high with goodies, but I don’t know who made the selection and who handed it to her.”

  “It might have been two different people,” I told her. “That’s a good point.”

  “You’re right; it could have played out that way. Sonia never got up from her seat, and that means someone filled the plate for her at the buffet table.” She paused. “And then somehow the plate got passed up the line to her. This is a mess,” she added, resting her forehead on her hands for a moment. “Do you think we’ll ever figure it out?”

  “Of course we will,” I said with more optimism than I really felt. “We have to,” I muttered under my breath as Ali heated a pan of milk on the stove. Even in the hot summer months, Ali is fond of a cup of hot chocolate before going to bed. I think it’s more of a nostalgia thing than anything else. We used to have hot chocolate on cold winter nights in the Midwest, during that golden time when our parents were alive and all was right with the world.

  “I think we have to put it out of our minds for tonight,” Ali said a few minutes later, heading down the hall with her mug of cocoa.

  “This will all look better in the morning. That’s
what Mom used to say, remember?” I said. She gave me a wisp of a smile, and I felt a catch in my throat. There were times like this, with her face scrubbed clean and her soft hair curling around her neck, that she looked like a teenager. And I was her big sister, always looking after all, trying to protect her from her own devil-may-care personality.

  “Of course I remember. And she was right. Sleep well, sis. We’ll tackle this together in the morning. C’mon, kitties, bedtime.” Barney padded dutifully down the hall after her, and Scout quickly followed. I smiled, realizing that I was still a “visitor” in their eyes and Ali was the one they adored. She was their “special” human and the dispenser of hugs and cat treats. I would have to earn my way into their little furry hearts. I bet a handful of cat treats every day would do the trick.

  Ali had left the cancellation list on the kitchen table, and my spirits sank as I looked over the familiar names. Friends, acquaintances, neighbors—these were people we had counted on, some new customers and some old ones. All of them were rejecting us and it stung. One thing was certain. We had to solve Sonia’s murder, and we had to do it fast.

  8

  It was barely 9:45 a.m. when the rapping on the shop door shattered my morning coffee-and-croissant break. I’d made sure everything was shipshape downstairs early that morning and then had retreated back to the apartment for a quick cup of java before officially starting my workday. Ali was taking a yoga class and wouldn’t be back till noon. I’d be managing the shop by myself, with the help of Dana Garrett, our college intern, who spent several hours a week with us, learning the ropes of running a small business.

  “Hold on, I’m coming!” I skipped down the steps, wearing what had become my business uniform. A white polo, embroidered with the Oldies But Goodies logo in navy blue, and a pair of tan cargo shorts. I was puzzled by the early-bird customer. Was someone picking up a special order? That seemed unlikely. Most of our special orders had been abruptly canceled, I thought sadly, lifting the shade. I flinched when the rapping turned into a burst of staccato pounding, making my head throb. The noise was metallic, as if someone was hammering at the door with a set of keys.